


The Way You've Changed Everything. (A "Five Feet Apart" scene comparison)

by AnAlbanyExpression



Category: Let's Play (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M, Heartbreak, Near-Death Experience, Separation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 08:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27467791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnAlbanyExpression/pseuds/AnAlbanyExpression
Summary: Another drabble I wrote for the Charm Chat on Discord, this one, leaning on the angstier side of things. Following what is presumed to be an incredibly stressful day, for the story picks up in the hospital a few hours after Samara has suffered from a particularly severe asthma attack. An event that seems to have altered everything for Charles, it being the first time he's seen her on the brink of death. The first time he's come to realize how fragile her life truly is, and how important it is to him that she spend it on dreams, prospects, and people worthier than himself. Parallel to the infamous goodbye scene between Will and Stella in "Five Feet Apart," Charles decides to say goodbye to Samara as she's relying on a ventilator to breathe. Breaking the news, that he would be taking the job at Ellesmere after all. That he didn't have the heart to let her make the mistake of wasting any more time on a flight risk, such as himself.
Relationships: Charles Jones/Sam Young (Let's Play)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	The Way You've Changed Everything. (A "Five Feet Apart" scene comparison)

**Author's Note:**

> It should definitely be restated, that this is a fic directly inspired and written to be applied to a scene in "Five Feet Apart." Several lines of dialogue, and the concept as a whole has been taken from said moment for the purposes of exploring its outcome as it's presented between Charles and Samara in the Let's Play universe. Let it be known, that plagiarism is not my intention, and that the overwhelming majority of credit for this fic traces back to the film "Five Feet Apart." Disclaimers out of the way, I hope you all enjoy! Thank you so much for reading!  
> -Alby

An anomaly, a thing borne of a numbing twist in their story. That was today. It was a shift. A distinction. Something that couldn’t shape itself into the shrill, unforgiving caress of frigid air that settles on the floor of every hospital. Couldn’t have been framed upon the moment as it was, consisting of a panicked Samuel, a despondent son. A horrified family, both Ruth and Samantha sunken beneath an almost unreadable plight of foreboding, broodful thoughts. Charles’ goosebumps. A pit, now recessed into the median of his core. His broken heart. It was all a mere list of products to be gleaned from every event and realization of the subsequent afternoon.

Samara almost died today.

Charles shuddered per request of the macabre reminder, vision observing the swarm of his Bunty's loved ones before promptly falling to the ground, once more. Eyes glaring with a certain guilt, that even he couldn't explain. Another maddening incongruity. _Please,_ **_please_ ** _make it through this, Samara..._

“Samuel Young?” 

With movements comparable to that of a machine’s, they operated as a whole. The overwhelmingly large party, throwing their heads up and around in sync, the waiting room’s darkened atmosphere supporting a cacophony of gasps. A collection of hope-ridden flickers. Some stood, others gripped whatever portion of their chair lay closest to their palms.

The young nurse watched a large array of people react as she addressed her patient’s father, some familiar faces stark against that of a few she’s never seen. Charles’ included. She approached Samuel without an ounce of trepidation, a warm reassurance in her gaze that’s become a rarity for her on nights such as these, treating people in as fragile a condition as Samara’s.

“We expect your daughter to make a full recovery, Mr. Young.”

Collectively, sighs laced themselves together between parties, those of joviality, relief. Yet, if the instance were to be cited by the carefullest of subdued, moderate details, then it’s fact that the purest of meanings behind that simple sentence, was its most unassailable within Charles. Charles, as his surprised, swollen heart battled the urge to unabashedly weep with gratitude where he stood. The side of one, trembling fist pressing into his lips on a firm exhale, eyes squeezing shut. Knees, prepared to buckle in support a full fledged collapse upon the tile beneath his shoes. He's sure it was an urge he wouldn't have been strong enough to resist, if not for his nearness to Samuel. His appearance by the present company.

“She’s on a ventilator at the moment, but she’s conscious. Visiting hours are only open for another thirty minutes, however, so I’ll have to advise that exclusively family members go to see her right now.” 

Biting his lip, Charles’ employer hesitated before shaking his head. Meeting the woman's suggestion with resistance, much to his son’s surprised incredulousness. 

“Jones and I have... _agreed_ that the two of us be the first ones to see her.”

Shocked, Jay was quick to raise his immediate objection.

“Are you _kidding?_ Dad, you couldn’t possibly ask mom and I to stay here, we-”

He was impeded by the subtle pressure of a cold, inexorable hand clasping his shoulder, turning to find the very mother to which he backed his argument looking up at him. Gaze of a forest's greener shades, working to reflect her faith in the stable tone of her husband’s prophetic voice, the intention that lined every note. He isn’t always impulsive.

“Let them go, Jay. We can see her tomorrow...”

***

There wasn't a beacon to suggest the relative calm in her storm, though it was an unmatched blatancy. To her, at least. To the morning of another attack--the first one in years, to now. Here, in place of the office. Covered by the linen of a hospital sheet, a sensation, almost abrasive against the pale legs it's branded many times before. The last ambiance in which she'd want to wake up, arguably, of a more recognizable stature than her bedroom. This is a literal, waking nightmare. She'd laugh in a bitter sense at the observation, if it was easy. Though, even that solace has been promptly stolen by a tube, currently and uncomfortably hedged by the sodden embrace of her throat. _At least I'm still alive._

"Pumpkin?" 

Her gaze flew towards the door, brow tented to discover her dad's head as it poked in with a great sum of hesitation. As if she'd shatter if he were to approach too suddenly. She blinked, lifting a hand and waving in an awkward fashion. And, predictably, it was more than enough of an invitation for Samuel. Prompting her father's complete entry, and hasty advance. His larger hand, capturing hers as soon as their proximity would allow it.

"Oh, _Pumpkin_ , we were all so," he sniffled, pursing his lips for a moment's time as he settled onto the chair beside her bed. "... _so_ worried." He managed, wiping beneath an eye with his unoccupied hand. 

She hoped her own eyes were capable of conveying her contentment, lithe fingers offering him a comforting squeeze. Attempting to translate to her father in some silent plea that he didn't have to terror any longer; She's okay, now. 

"Samara, Pumpkin, I have to..."

Bemusingly, she observed as his vision suddenly slipped away from her face. Falling to the side, allowing an almost weary quietude to plague the air in absence of his sentence's completion. Staying prevalent, as she had no voice to muster a question through the ventilator that stunted an already fragile grasp at communication. 

"...I have to warn you."

Concerned, her head turned further upon the pillow that supported its weight. Facing him as well as she could, given her compromising position. He looked at her again, in that moment. Though, it still took him an unnerving facet of time to collect his explanation under the fretful scrutiny of her vigilance. 

"...you're about to receive some news, that might be difficult for you to stomach. I'm...sorry, that you have to hear it now, of all times."

Expectantly, she raised an eyebrow, not used to him leveling with her as he is in any regard. Dread, growing exponentially across her abdomen, brandishing her entire form in a powerful, chill-inspiring wave. Samara could do nothing but urge him with her distressed expression to elaborate further, but all he did was clench his jaw. Looking up and raising his brows at the window to the right of her room.

Curious--and notably anxious at this junxure--Samara rolled her head in order to observe whatever had derived his attention in the hall. Eyes widening, heart jumping at a faster cadence for reasons so completely irrelevant to fear. The blue in his gaze, just as soothing to her as it was this morning. Just as beautiful, and him.

Charles had abandoned his ever-present mask of stoicism on her behalf, smiling despite the doleful sadness spelled upon his features as a whole. Dread, promptly making its unwelcome début once more, somewhere deep in her chest. Pressing against her heart, ruthless and unavoidable in the face of a mystery to be uncovered. Just as Charles lifted that garishly pink phone of his to an ear.

Suddenly, Samara heard her father's ringtone from where he sat, though she opted to remain still as he answered it. Assuming he'd walk outside to take the call, she wasn't expecting him to place the device on her chest. Unable to tear her eyes away from her prince and his inexplicable melancholy.

"I'll leave you two for now…" 

She faintly heard Samuel stand, making his way out of the room with a mousy squeak in the door's hinges. The siren call of privacy. Something she would undoubtedly marvel at having received from her father, if not for the pressing nature of this situation's severity.

"...Looks as though I've finally got you speechless."

His accent flowed through the speaker on her dad’s phone, vibrating against her clavicles. An amicable sound that had never failed to offer her some sense of tranquility. Until now. Now, it was a noise that only acted to feed her expanding unease. The tone he’s taken, hardly louder than a whisper. So weighted by unfiltered emotion that nothing could overpower its gravity, even in humor. 

Charles couldn't keep from noting how little his quip did in terms of remedying her worry, and even so, he smiled. Smiled in a way that looked discordant, paired disagreeably with an unmasked bulk of woe now scored across his ivory countenance. Somehow paler than usual, whiter than she’d ever beheld it.

“...I, as can be said of everyone, have been told on more than one occasion that if you love something, you must learn to let it go.” He started again. She felt her heart stop.

“I’ve always thought that to be such a ridiculous sentiment. My whole life, even after my divorce.” 

On cue, as it routinely does whenever the topic is risen, Charles halted in his soliloquy. She had assumed on every occurrence that it was done in an effort to collect his thoughts, and her assumption seemed to carry some weight as his stare grew serious. Deathly serious.

“Until I watched you almost die.”

Samara startled, brow tenting in a fashion that suggested the outed state of an unspoken clue. A horrible acclaim that his intro inspired to the forefront of her mind, eyes staring into his in an ominous, fearful way. Unlike they ever did in the past.

“In that moment, Samara…” He shook his head, trounced by the cacophony of enigmatic feelings, ones which he could never succeed in recalling to their fullest. 

“Nothing mattered to me, except you.” 

She felt her lip quiver, afraid of what she suspected. Doubting it, even as it reared its abhorrent, unbidden head. Escaping his tongue, sounding through the small speaker of an outdated cell phone. Two hearts left scored by the message he worked to convey.

“I’m sorry,”

She lifted her hand, reaching out to him. Begging that he let himself hear the words she couldn’t speak, fingertips pressing into the deceiving transparency of the glass pane that splayed ruthlessly between them. A puerile gesture, one that spoke more of the entreaty that he stay, than any confession or plea she could’ve possibly offered him. He sniffled, watching her face crumple as he continued.

“I don’t want to go to London.” He managed, voice wavering with its honesty.

“All I want is to be here with you.”

Charles couldn’t resist an evil temptation in his grief, meeting the touch of her fingerprints with his own, despite being bound to his side of the window. Hoping that she felt their connection as he did, and simultaneously hating himself for wishing anything of the sort. For wanting her to care. He knew it to be cruel, irrevocably villainous. How desperately, he hoped beneath an overwhelming guilt, that she’d miss him too.

“I _can’t,_ ” he whispered, watching tears balance themselves atop her water lines. Conjuring his own, in turn.

“Life is too short, too fragile.” He breathed, shakily. Watching her eyes adamantly disagree with him, shattering whatever remained of his worn, cantankerous heart.

“Too wonderful to waste...on a person like me.” 

He watched her chest rise and fall, in what had to be an aggravated string of sobs. Stifled by the ever present, ever-irritating ventilator, her head shook with desperation. Eyes, blinking the aforementioned tears loose of their brittle tension across her irises. Those pulchritudinous, devastating irises.

“I don’t know what happens next,” Charles spoke, managing a relatively even tone as streaks of thin, heated moisture trailed down his cheeks. “...but I don’t regret _any_ of this.” He urged, looking onto her with parted lips. Wanting to kiss the lines away from her forehead, bring her peace in a way that he never could again.

“...Could you close your eyes?” He pursed his lips, observing her brows furrow on an already panicked mein. Portraying agonized confusion in light of his bewildering request.

“I just don’t think I can walk away if you’re still looking at me.” He whispered, chin wobbling with every urge he had to take it all back. Defiantly, her eyes widened. Refusing to shut in any way, not even to rid them of a fresh onslaught of tears, now glistening to the point of reflecting his own remorse. _Charles, I…_

She squinted, the burn of unshed tears becoming too much to weather on a gawk. The fear of his departure, far outweighing the need to remedy that pain. 

_I’m scared._

He couldn’t help but let out the shortest of sobs in response to the candor of her actions, bunting the glass as delicately as he would her head. “Please…”

Samara didn’t have the heart to accept what he was doing, the disillusions her health had given him that had brought about this Earth-shattering decision. How easily the pivot had occurred, on a choice they’d already resolved together. But, moreso, _unfathomably_ so, she didn’t have the strength to hold him back. Couldn’t make him choose her, or wait for her resistance. 

_This is what you want?_

Searching his eyes, the ice they harbored suggested that it was. The dread. The stubbornness. 

_Yes._

She caught a fraction of her thin hospital blanket in a vice-like grip, clutching it at her side as a means of bracing herself. Mustering strength from a place she couldn’t see, fingers pressing harder into the glass as she regretfully forced her eyes closed. A long, pathetic cry escaping her equally pathetic lungs. She felt helpless against the first question that came to mind, already whirling at how she'll ever be capable of opening them again, knowing he won't be there. Knowing that she may never see him again.

_Okay._

Charles had to leave. He needed to turn away. But, he couldn’t get his feet to move. Somehow fettered by the fact that she’s crying, by the sound of her muffled anguish. By the looming possibility that he’s making a huge mistake.

“I love you,” He found himself incapable of censoring the truth this time around, drawing closer to the window as she continued to fall apart on the other side. “so much.” 

He should’ve at least stayed with her through the worst of her pain, just as he knew that he should’ve said goodbye when she’d have the opportunity to try and stop him. He also knew, however, that this was an argument she would’ve won had he allotted her the chance to have it. Irrefutably. And, selfishly enough, he couldn’t afford that likelihood. _I meant what I said._

Charles pried his hand away from the window, and with no small amount of self-condemnation, turned for the nearest exit. _This is for the best, you’ll see._

He hated how unforgivingly the hall carried his whimpering sobs, echoing off of its walls as he strode down the length that separated him from the outside, along with every gasp he couldn’t smother. _I swear, you’ll laugh about it one day, Samara._

Charles paused at the door he’d pursued so quickly, but refused the overzealous compulsion to turn around again. Unaware that a mere yard or so behind, stood Samuel. Not knowing that the older man had every baseless intention of stopping his ex-manager, for reasons he couldn’t explain. That is, until he had the chance. For Mr. Young remained silent, almost afraid of being found out, and facing the fact that even _he_ wanted Charles to stay. He had nothing to fear though, it so happened. For Charles didn’t turn around. He opened the door. He left. And, all three of them--Samara, Charles, Samuel--they each knew it to be true:

A chapter of their lives was over, far sooner than it should’ve been.

FIN.

Inspiration:

[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sxRp8eP4Vh8 ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sxRp8eP4Vh8)

**Author's Note:**

> All credit for the characters should be directed towards Mongie, author and illustrator of the Webtoon, "Let's Play!" Be sure to check her out on Instagram, (@mogrelmarie), and read Let's Play!


End file.
